


The Hand That Feeds

by UltraVioletSoul



Category: Call of Duty
Genre: Angst, Captivity, Coercion, Eating Disorders, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Future Sexual Content, Kidnapping, Past Abuse, Reader Insert, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, writer is an airhead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3391190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltraVioletSoul/pseuds/UltraVioletSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Would you dare bite it?</p><p>[[ Gideon x F!Reader ]]</p><p>DISCONTINUED.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> This story will follow the events of Advanced Warfare, but won't be a retell of the game. Still, just a warning in case people want to avoid any spoilers.
> 
> For the rest who wish to read this fic, please enjoy ;u; and forgive my inherently strange English.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Call of Duty Advanced Warfare or its characters. They all belong to Activision and Sledgehammer. No copyright infringement intended. This is story is being written for entertainment purposes.

**Chapter I**

ATLAS’ concerns were not only about lending services to wars that the governments of the world waged against one another, to prove who was right or wrong. It was not just a superpower for hire, with the ability to do in a few years what it took decades for governments to achieve. ATLAS was the way forward, the one that built the future— the one that was improving the lives of many people around the world— and that was the reason why you advocated for them. You not only had heard many good things about ATLAS from your father, who had been the Irons’ family doctor before ATLAS was founded, but had also lived and seen enough to decide that it was worthy of its title of Savior. It was always the first one to take action after catastrophes to set things right and the one to bring peace, stability, and safety, in regions that had once been immersed in endless conflict. Where others failed, ATLAS succeeded and offered a chance to start anew.

You had only been a little girl when you decided you wanted to be a part of that change when you grew up— only a little girl playing with Irons’ son, Will, who was your friend. You had been just a child when your life was was planned as soon as your parents found out you had an IQ close to genius and Mr. Irons offered to sponsor your studies in the best schools and universities. A 'miracle' like you did not happen every day and your playtime with Will was put aside in favor of your education, much to your friend’s chagrin. 

You graduated at the age of fifteen and finished your PhD in biomedical engineering at age nineteen. Doing your research under ATLAS’ patronage, you helped finish the development of personalized medicine— a way to select optimal therapies based on the patient’s genetic information, which made for better diagnosis and treatment of illnesses. You also helped develop a new prosthetics intelligent system controlled by advanced computer processors, which allowed patients to recover sensory perception once the prosthetic was transplanted to their nervous system through electrodes.

The success brought fame to ATLAS, and helped boost the approval rate among people, when it was decided that such knowledge should be shared with the world. It made you even more enthusiastic to take part in an investigation concerning the most lethal viruses up to date, to see the possibility of causing them to mutate to their death so to speak. It was an existence of hard work and dedication the one you lead, but you did not mind. You basked in the feeling of being part of something bigger than you, probably helping to change the world for the better. That was the goal you aspired and something that Irons said he liked about you. 

It was a time when you had dreams and big hopes, a time of innocent youth. 

Things changed one day when you attended a medicine congress in South Africa and were kidnapped. That was the day hell came after you and there was no turning back when you walked into it. If only you had taken more precautions and listened when your parents begged you to bring someone that could take care of you— but you did not. It had been a personal invitation from a friend of yours and you did not think it was necessary to mingle work with a trip that was meant to be for personal enjoyment, more than anything. If you had known it would be a mistake you would come to regret dearly, you would have accepted the protection ATLAS could have provided.

But everything had happened so fast that you did not have the time to react. One moment you were going to the restroom to put on some makeup and the next thing you knew was that you had someone pointing a gun at you from behind. You could not comprehend what was going on until you had been led to a car and bound, as your captor softly spoke that if you did as you were told you would get to live. Still, even as you finally could react and survival instinct managed to kick in, it was too late when you felt a stinging pain at the side of your neck. That was the day your face appeared all over the news, along with those of other researchers and technologists, as it was announced that a terrorist attack had taken place and people had been abducted and killed. 

Out of everyone, you had been the most important of them. You were the key to put their plans in motion— or your knowledge, more precisely. Your understanding of genetics and viruses was precious to them to create a nightmare as never seen or feared before. It was the nightmare you never thought you would live to see, the time you found out that the most horrible things could also come from your mind.

You did not know where you had been taken to. You did not know how long it had been since the last time you were seen by the world. All that you knew was that you seemed to be in some kind of underground base, forced to do something that went against what you believed and stood for. After several scientists had been murdered and others agreed to such monstrosity, you finally had no choice but to do the bidding of your captors, under the threat of kidnapping your parents too and make you watch them suffer if you refused.

An eternity had seemed to pass before any rescue force came to your aid, and by the time it was done you wished no one ever learned about the atrocity you had conceived. Locked in a lab, practically day and night, you got little rest and refused to eat anything, but still were incapable of feeling brave to commit suicide. Perhaps it was your hope of being rescued by ATLAS and taken out of that hellhole. Perhaps it was your hope of seeing your family again what gave you something to live for, but it was not long before you lost notion of time and fell in a spiral of despair, not knowing what to do anymore other than to sulk in your misery and self-pity. 

Quite frankly, you did not know what you held onto anymore. You knew you were only a tool to your captors— a necessity they would dispose of once you were no longer useful. You were just delaying the inevitable for something that would probably never happen, but the lie was pretty and nice when there was nothing left other than madness.

But one day there was the rumor of invasion and death. You could clearly hear the screams and the hurried steps down the hall, gunfire and explosions, as you pressed your ear to the metallic door and your fingers clutched the coldness of confinement. You scratched at the surface, pounded with your fists, called for help, desperate to get out and finally see the light of the Sun again. Desperate to go back home and hold your loved ones. Was it too much to ask when you had not smiled in a long time, when all you had known was desolation and torture that you now carried in your flesh?

_Please, someone listen…_

“Doctor (__l/n__), we’re ATLAS rescue force.” A male voice on the other side was the answer to your prayers and you almost cried in relief, feeling the tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. But it was not time to celebrate, yet, as you were urged to listen and keep your cool. “I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the door and take cover behind the counter on the far side of the room.”

You could care less how they knew your surroundings when they were outside and there was a wall and a door between you and them. And you needed not be asked twice as you hurried and knelt behind the sturdy piece of material, curling in a ball and protecting your ears seconds before you heard the explosion and felt the world shaking around you. Papers flew in the air as you opened your eyes and scanned the place, daring to stick out your head when you heard boots scrunch against debris and dirt. 

A shadow grew larger on the floor…

Your gaze fell to the ATLAS logo on the man’s vest before you reached his face, framed by a black knit cap. His blue eyes reflected worry, and dismay, when he saw you and he hurried towards you with a brisk pace. You felt a bit light-headed at the thought that all of this could be a dream, fearing that you might wake up at any moment from it and that you would still be trapped in this room, with no hope of escape. 

This was the first friendly person you saw in a long time and you wanted to cry really badly when he offered a gloved hand to you, getting you on your feet as he began the process of conditioning to the dangerous situation you soon would face. That was one of the things you remembered the most about him— the way he reassured you and talked you into calming down, the way he infused you with confidence when everything was overwhelming you mentally. 

“We’re getting you out of here, Doc.” His blue eyes stared into you, deep and full of strength as you had never seen it before. You would have trusted anyone who promised to help, at this point, but there was such determination of steel in his gaze that it was impossible to believe his promise was empty. “Hold out for a little longer.”

“VIP secured. Moving to extraction point.” One of the men that accompanied him informed to HQ and another indicated you to stay close as you made your way out. 

The moment was surreal and you felt like fainting before you pulled yourself together and managed to control your shaky legs. Your whole trembling self, more like it. Still, your stomach roiled in repulsion at the sight of corpses littered all across the floor and you vomited food you had not consumed for days, almost collapsing ready to give up. 

It was then that you heard his voice again, commanding, leading, reproaching, encouraging. “Come on, girl, don’t you give up just yet. I’m going to be very disappointed if I’ve got to carry you all the way out of Myanmar.”

You had to laugh bitterly, feeling the bile burn your throat as you finally discovered where you had been held all this time. And to think you had always wanted to take vacations in the country. Might as well forget about that, after this. “How long?”

“Ten months. It was pain trying to pinpoint your location. This KVA trash has gotten more secretive than ever.”

 _Ten months_. You had been held captive this long? It was a surprise that you were still alive. It was a miracle that they even found you, in the first place, for you could have perfectly been left for dead without any way or chance to communicate. He seemed to understand your shock and discomfort, for he offered a sympathetic look before leading the way for you.

Two of his men went ahead and scanned for threats before one of them commented, in a sardonic tone, “for a terrorist group that claims to hate technology, they sure have an awful lot of it.”

“What were you expecting? For them to fight us with sticks and stones?” You realized, for the first time, that there was another woman in the group. It was not surprising, as there were many of them at ATLAS working in the armed forces and doing the same hard work as their male counterparts. The corporation had always had its doors wide open for them, but a larger percent of women could be found in the field of research and innovation and it grew every year. Everyone’s work was considered of vital importance but it was then that you wished you could have had the same spine and fearlessness as her. She sounded so confident, so determined, as she led the way side by side with her colleague, ready to crush her enemies at the first opportunity.

“No, but look at this facility. It’s obvious they have been investing in pretty advanced stuff.” 

“It’s called bullshit, man, because that’s everything the KVA says.”

The man with the beanie, who was just a few feet behind, shook his head and sighed, as though it was not the first time he had to deal with something like this. “You two cut the chatter. Stay sharp.” 

They fell silent once more and you kept walking, hearing the spontaneous sound of gunshots in the distance and the alarm so deep in your head you felt dizzy and defeated. It was in a moment of clarity that the air left your lungs and you mindlessly grabbed his arm—or tried to, as you only managed to wrap your fingers around the exoskeleton attached to his body. He stopped, glancing at you swiftly and giving you an impatient look that he quickly covered up when he saw your panic and fear. In your hurry to get out, in your shock at the unexpectedness of your liberation, you had forgotten about the reason why you had been imprisoned.

“Wait… I left my notes, my research back there.” You tried to push him in the direction to the lab but he resisted, or maybe you were too weak to even make him budge an inch. “We have to go back, we need to—”

“We’re almost halfway, we’re not going back!” He seized your arm and pushed you into the contrary direction, as you fought to break free from his grasp. Damn, the guy was too strong and he was hurting you!

“Listen here, Doc, I don’t care what it takes to get you out of this hellhole but I’m doing it. So unless you want me to drag you all over the base, I’d suggest that you cooperate.”

“No, no, you don’t understand!” Your expression was pleading, urgent, full of guilt. “I don’t want them back, I want them destroyed. If the KVA or someone else gets their hands on them, it’s all over.”

He narrowed his eyes, looking at you with suspicion. “What are you talking about?”

“It would be too long to explain. I can only assure that what they me made do is worth the lives of millions of people.”

“And you’re telling me this now?” The man snapped, concern in his gaze as you were shaken like a ragdoll.

That was the last straw for you. You slapped his hand away, or maybe he let you go, taking a step back as you clutched your sore shoulder. “Well, I’m sorry that I wanted to get the hell out of my prison as soon as I had the chance! Apparently, you haven’t been confined never to see a glimpse of the outside world again.” You shot back with anger, feeling the pain travel to every part of your body. You were so tired, so fucking tired that you were ready to sleep for eternity. You cared not anymore.

He gave an exasperated sigh while you stared at the floor. Still, he seemed to be trying to find a way to reason with you. “Alright. Regardless of that information, we can’t go back. We’re charged with your security and extraction and that’s our main priority right now. We’ll let the other teams take care of the situation. That’s the most we can do at the moment.” Nodding to the man that had been bickering with the female soldier earlier, he went on, “Joker, get hold of them, will you?”

“Right away, Boss.”

“Torres, anything ahead?”

The third man never took his eyes off his sector but you could hear an ‘all clear’ above Joker’s exchange. 

Finally, ‘Boss’ seemed to decide that it was time to move on, as Torres told you to keep low and close to him once more. “We’d better move. We’re an easy target in this corridor and we’ve already burned too much time.”

As you were led out of the underground base, you encountered enemies on the way but the ATLAS soldiers kept you protected and safe. You wondered if Irons in person had sent them after you but you figured that, at any rate, it did not matter. You were going home, back to the world you knew— back to the people that loved you.

As you reached the surface, the Sun blinded you and your eyes squinted until you had to cover them, the pain the bright light caused being too much. You were sightless for the moment but you could feel the heat burning your skin, breathe the fresh air of forest and rain for the first time in a long while. It felt like heaven to have freedom within your reach and you gritted your teeth, trying to hold back your sobs and swallow the lump in your throat.

His hand held you by the forearm, guiding you to what you guessed was your transportation, if the swish of blades was any indication. There was total uproar outside, as you listened to the engines of aircrafts, the yells and the stamp of boots, the hiss of fission canisters as they boosted the soldiers in the air. This did not sound like a rescue mission handled with subtlety. It was more like a full-scale raid on the base and you were sure you could not be the cause of such a fuss.

You turned to him with eyes still closed, feeling your strength abandon you little by little and clinging to him for dear life. He lifted you to the helicopter and it was in the safety of its shadows that you dared to open your eyes just a fraction, as your curiosity got the best of you. The light still hurt them but you saw the sky and the pain seemed so small compared to that. The sight that greeted you was bluer than you recalled, and the clouds looked soft as the rays of the Sun touched your washed-out skin. It might have seemed stupid but, as insignificant as it was for others, that small pleasure gave you rejoice— gave you some hope when there had been none left.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.” You heard the ‘Boss’ order, once everyone was on board, and the helicopter took off. The movement made you feel dizzy and you took deep breaths, fearing that your heart would give out at any moment. It was then than a hand gently patted your back and you stared into soft blue eyes. His sharp face was rugged by years of combat, probably, and there were worry lines that brushed his tanned skin, but there was warmth to him that wanted to surface— waited the chance to be seen yet remained hidden under layers of toughness and callousness.

“Easy there, don’t get carried away. There’s plenty of sky to look at once we reach headquarters,” he advised, surprising you a bit with his choice of words and the indulgent tone of his voice.

You could only nod, looking out the window for a last time and settling on placing your gaze on your hands resting on your lap. They looked so thin, so pale, and you were certain that you were a mess after months of malnourishment and enclosure. After months working for them…

Those thoughts returned and you again stared down, at the base that was left behind. You hoped ATLAS would destroy what you did, the crime you committed when you did not have the guts to say no— the guts to end it all, the strength to endure the pain. Or perhaps a part of you wanted to see for yourself, to know if it was truly possible. _No_. You were not that kind of person. Whatever you did it had to be for the good of mankind, not to destroy it— not _this_ monstrosity. 

Your hands felt dirty, you realized as you wiped them against your pants. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed he was looking at you, intently, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat not knowing what to make of it. It was not long before he looked away, and exhaustion took over you after all you had been through. However, he was not done with you.

“You know it’s not any of my business what you did back there, but Irons will want to hear about it. You’d better be prepared to tell him what happened.” You nodded yet again, and closed your eyes so he would not see your shame and guilt. They were yours to deal with. Only yours. “Try to rest. It’s going to be a long journey.”

It was the beginning of a long journey, indeed.


	2. II.

**Chapter II**

In the state you had been found, you needed all the nurture that could be provided for your recovery. You had spent several weeks in convalescence as your body rested and pulled through this ailment. Food, hydration, sleep, a healthy amount of time spent outdoors, and therapy with a psychiatrist were the beginning to a long road to healing. Still, you refused to talk about the experience with anyone, closing that door even to your own family. Sleep did not come easily, either, as your nights were most certainly plagued by nightmares of your tormentors and events you were not sure if you would ever forget.

During the time you were kept in one of ATLAS medical centers, you were allowed to see your parents. It made you feel joy as they showered you with love, your mother crying about how much she had missed you and your father hugging you as he told you how worried he had been about you. They had been so happy to see you that they had spent their time smothering you with affections, until your nurse had to tell them to leave so you could rest.

Your father was a doctor in medicine, overseeing the medical centers of the company in US soil, and your mother was a mechanical engineer working in the development of ATLAS weaponry. Both had long careers in the corporation and had been friends with the Irons for years now. You were their pride, you had always known it deep inside, but when they told you that they were proud you had endured for so long, resisted and survived, it was something that surely took you aback.

If only they knew the truth, you were not sure how they would feel. You contemplated those thoughts in the solitude of your room, as you brushed your hair in front of your vanity, pondering the words you would say for the next hours. Meanwhile, you remained here on your own, preparing and gathering the strength for what was to come. As it was, you did not think you should say a thing before discussing the matter with Irons himself, and you were sure he wanted to know.

Should you tell him the truth of what happened? You owed the man so much you did not think you would be able to lie. He would see through you if you tried. He would know that you were deceiving him and you could not disappoint him, betray the person who made you what you were today. It was unthinkable, but when the day came you were not sure if you were prepared to face him, despite he had assured that you could decline at any moment you wished. Even if you knew you could get away with it today, eventually, hell would come after you so it was no use running away. Irons could only be so patient and lenient and you did not want him to put him to the test.

You decided to wear something simple and proper for the occasion. No matter how informal Irons wanted the meeting to appear, you could not allow yourself to fall short of the expectations. It was something you could not stand, much any less before a man of his status.

Lackluster eyes swept over a delicate jewelry box of dark wood, as you tried to choose a necklace to wear amid the various stones sparkling in platinum and gold. They had been gifts from Irons, and his way of welcoming you back home— back and forever trapped in a gilded cage though at the time you did not realize that, despite the circumstances, the situation was not so different. Your fate was to remain within ATLAS eyesight for your own safety and, even if it was not directly stated, for the safety of everyone.  
You were not free to come and go as you pleased but a part of you thought it was for the best. Irons could not allow losing one of his most prominent minds again, or so they said, and you did not want to think about going through the same hell once more.

An unexpected chime had you dropping your brush to the floor. With a start, you picked it up before you managed to pull yourself together and stand up, hurrying to the small screen on the wall next to the door. A man was standing outside and, although you could not recognize him quite well, there was something familiar about him and that cranky look in his eyes that piqued your curiosity.

“Who is it?”

“Your escort to your meeting, Doctor (_l/n_). Irons is waiting for you,” he simply answered without much ceremony, sparing you the formalities of further explanations or the pleasure of introductions.

At the sound of his voice it all came back to you, however, and you found yourself staring at the image for too long, matching his features with a face you had seen months ago. It was him, the soldier who had led the team during your rescue— there was no doubt of it. His appearance was different, though, as his head was free of the black beanie he had worn on that occasion and sported spiky dark hair that was tidily cropped. He was off of his exosuit, also, clad in a gray uniform that nicely outlined the fitness of his physique.

“Alright, just give me a minute,” you requested, turning to the mirror to check your look for the umpteenth time that afternoon. Once you got rid of imagined creases on your clothes, you took a deep breath and finally dared to meet your visitor, promptly unlocking the door so it would slide open.

As you walked out to join him, you noticed him staring at you from head to toes, not with any suggestive intent but rather an analytic eye. It was as though he was assessing whether you were dressed appropriately to be brought to none other than the CEO and founder of ATLAS, and such scrutiny made you feel even more nervous. Whether he though you did a good job was left to anyone’s guessing.

“Follow me,” he finally said and turned around, leading the way as you passed through a nearly deserted hall. At this hour there were not many people inside the building, mainly because they were working, although you watched a few come and go every now and then.

The silence that took over was not supposed to make you feel at ease. If anything, it was uncomfortable, awkward, unwanted, and it made you feel the need to break the ice just to get some slight sense of relief. Yet you were ignored and, as you stepped into the glass tubular elevator, he simply stared ahead with arms behind his back. With a sigh, you turned your gaze to the world beneath, lingering on the patches of green surrounding your home as you held onto the metal handrail for good measure.

Certainly, the idea that you could let the opportunity pass and not even exchange a few words with one of the persons that had ensured your survival was inane. Time had passed but did they not say that it was better late than never? You did not even have the chance to thank him for, as soon as your transport had landed, you had been taken swiftly under the care of medical personnel and had not seen him until today.

“So, what’s your name?” You breathed to the glass, hoping he would hear. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him glance at the glowing numbers above the door as he sighed before giving you an answer.

“Gideon.” His voice did not convey too much emotion but that did not deter you, and you soon tried to engage in a friendly conversation with him.

“That’s nice.” You wished you did not sound so tongue-tied or that you could have had something better or more interesting to say. Your comment only made him grunt a response and you guessed he was unimpressed at your efforts to socialize. Still, you were not giving up so easily. “Have you worked here for long?”

“A couple of years.” The answers had been so curt and to the point you could not help but wonder if he found your presence bothersome. Perhaps he still resented the way you had argued with him. Despite you knew it sounded absurd, you could not find any other explanation.

But even though you did not know him that much, you had the feeling this was not his usual self. Gideon looked uncomfortable in his own skin and tense around you, as though there was something on his mind troubling him. You would have liked to know what it was, if it had something to do with you, but you were not sure if he would even let you in on it.

Looking at him, you were surprised to find that he had faced you with a tentative expression. That was very much evident in the way his lips opened, yet he was still trying to gather the nerve to speak with you. However, just as the word ‘Doc’ came from his lips, he was interrupted when the doors of the elevator opened and two people walked in chatting merrily. This intermission apparently discouraged him, for he simply turned away from you and resumed his role as your taciturn companion, his expression hardening as he avoided your eyes. Neither of you spoke again until you reached the bottom floor, when he walked out and you followed to the main gates of the building.

At that moment, he slowed down for a second allowing to catch up with his strides. The minute you were at an arm’s length, he faced you and suddenly stopped as if intent on resuming his pending conversation with you.

“Doc, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for the way I treated you in Myanmar.” There was a bit of shame and even regret in those big blue eyes of his that you curiously found endearing, as they were a stark contrast with the tough demeanor he showed. “I know I was a bloody git and—”

You unconsciously squeezed your lips and raised a hand to silence him, shaking your head all the while. “It’s alright, there’s nothing to apologize for. You were trying to do your job and I was a fool.”

Did this have to do with your meeting with Irons? Did he think you would vent about your little quarrel, which you had not recalled until a few moments ago? If that was the case, Gideon could rest assured that you would not have done such a thing at all. Mainly because it would have been embarrassing for you to admit that you had been a pain in the neck, when people only wanted to help. At any rate, it was not a topic worthy of being mentioned when compared with other matters that had more weight. Still, the look in his eyes was sincere, as if he was really regretful, and you had felt surprised that he brought up the issue but guessed it was understandable.

He seemed to have other opinions and was not convinced so easily. “That’s different. I shouldn't have behaved that way with you. It was—”

“You were just doing your job and I was being difficult,” you cut him off again, wanting to move on past the subject and onto a new page. His gaze met yours again and you noticed it was the palest blue in the sunlight that seeped through the glass, and that his dark hair had started to gray at his temples. Perhaps you would have ventured to say that he was truly handsome, just not to his face. “It’s alright. We were in a difficult situation and I was making matters worse. Your mission was to bring me to safe haven. You weren't meant to follow my command. Isn't the mission the only thing that matters?”

Shifting, Gideon brushed a hand against his trimmed stubble and furrowed his eyebrows. As his neatly groomed fingers scratched the coarse surface, your eyes were drawn to the tattoo— which you had failed to see until now— imprinted on his left cheek. _// 072109 //_ , it read in small numbers that were only noticeable to the observant eye and could have easily been mistaken with a patch of facial hair. It was probably some kind of ID tattoo, though you had never seen other soldiers in ATLAS with one of those before.

After a moment’s thought, he allowed your words to sink in before his skeptical aura faded and his features softened. “So, it’s settled then?” this time, his words held a hint of what you dared say was relief.  
You nodded with a smile, walking ahead of him this time. “Come on, I’m going to be late.”

Walking out, the heat in the air unexpectedly overwhelmed you as you abandoned the air conditioned premises. You had to stop for a few seconds to draw in a few puffs of air as you fanned your face with your hand and, in that time, Gideon had reached the jeep waiting for you. Following him, you tried to ignore the uncomfortable hotness and hoped that your body would readjust to your surroundings soon. Hoped that you would not get sick by the end of the day, too. With subtlety, you moved the collar of your shirt a little to the side and watched him open the door for you, before he moved out of the way so you could get in.

Gideon was pretty much the soldier he looked, tall, solemn and imposing, as he helped you get in and did the same after you without as much as another word. With a brief order from him, the driver started the vehicle almost immediately and you were off to see one of the most powerful men on Earth.

You entertained yourself with the sight around you. This immense place was still new to you, since it was the first time you were stationed in Denver. Sadly your condition had not allowed you to sightsee, so to speak, since your parents and caretakers had been adamant on you resting day and night and you could only stroll in the gardens of the medical center, to shelter you from contaminated environments not suited to help in your convalescence.

“I’ll have one of the boys show you around the base later,” Gideon offered before you realized you had been staring awe-struck at your surroundings. It could not be helped, however. There was so much going on around you that it was impossible for your eyes to stay in the same place for too long. “You surely weren't given that chance while you were recovering. How are you feeling?”

Your answer came a few seconds later, as though you needed time to believe it yourself first. “Better, thanks, though I was getting sick of staying in bed all the time.” A sheepish chuckle left your lips and you looked at him, not wanting to appear like a child seeing the world for the first time. Maybe it was because you were an enthusiast of even the smallest things, or perhaps it was so nice to be out and about at long last. “One more day and I swear I would have gone insane.”

He seemed to find your reply funny for there was a subtle curve in the corner of his mouth, a glint of amusement settling in his gaze. This time, you also noticed the small wrinkles on his tanned skin and the aquiline nose that complemented his squared face.

“Well, that’s good news.”

The way he spoke made you surmise he was British, but you did not inquired further on the topic. If anything, you were not sure you should be asking about personal matters now of all times or if he even was up for it. Yet you felt the need to say something, to get if off your chest now when your life was starting to fall into place.

Straightening your hands against the fabric of your dress pants, you let the words out before you had the chance to think or regret them. “I wanted to say thanks, for what you did— what your men and women did for me. I thought I would never get out of that place but here I am and… it’s good to be home.”

You could not look at him afterwards. It was too much to open up like this and stare into his eyes all the while, expectant of his reaction. There was a long silence that seemed to drag on forever and you were starting to feel like a fool, until Gideon interrupted your train of thought.

“Don’t thank me.” He was not looking at you, either, his gaze focused on the helicopters in the distance as soldiers bustled all over the place, arms at the ready.

You felt confused by that statement, blinking twice before finally managing to get a sentence together. “Why should I not?”

At your question, he seemed to be second-guessing what he had said as he glanced at you sideways, then letting his eyes avert from you. “It’s Irons you should be grateful. He’s the one that personally saw to it that you were rescued. I was only doing my job.”

Still, you smiled brushing away the hair that so insistently got on your face. If you thought you would make it to the meeting with your hairdo intact, you had been sorely mistaken. “I’ll make sure to give him my thanks, too, but even if it was your job you saved my life.”

“That brain of yours could do a lot for the world, Doc.” A little smile surfaced and you were at a loss for words, feeling your cheeks burn. Whether it was the compliment he gave you, or the hot weather, you could not tell for sure. Maybe it was both.

“I've read some of your works,” he finally admitted, clearing his throat as he sat straighter, and you nervously laughed not knowing what to make of the situation. Surely, you had people tell you that before but they were usually from your circle of coworkers. This was something new. “When I’m prepping for a mission, I like learning about the people I’m going to deal with. I’m aware you've helped develop a new technology for prosthetics, which one of my rookies is using now.” Despite it meant they must have lost some part of their body, the thought made you feel content because you had helped make their lives better, or so was your desire. “He lost his arm during the battle of Seoul.”

You had heard about the conflict that had raged in South Korea not long ago. It had been a massacre, a fight for stability that had cost many lives. Six thousand souls lost in only four hours in a fight that extended for several days more.

You listened intently to the story Gideon told you about this new recruit. Former USMC Private Jack Mitchell had been wounded in action in his first day of combat. Had it not been for his best friend, they both would have died when they were trying to destroy a gunship. Alas, the same could not be said for the other marine who had died several days later from the severity of his wounds. But despite such noble sacrifice, it was Mitchell the one who had to keep living with the remorse of what could have been, and the weight of a disability that would make it even more difficult for him to carry on.

“I’m truly sorry about what happened to him,” you said after a moment, letting the information sink in, “but it’s comforting to know that ATLAS helped when he needed it the most.”

It gave you the strength to go on, with the knowledge that you could do so much for others, for this was what you were meant to do. This was your place in the world. Maybe you desperately wanted to cover up the bad things you once did for your own sake. You still were kept in the dark about the events of the raid in Myanmar and you wanted to know what had happened after you left, wanted to know if your work had been destroyed once and for all.

“Gideon, I wanted to ask you about what happened in Myanmar,” you began as you played with your fingers, not knowing if you should really mention the matter in a place like this.

“Sorry but it's not up to me to tell you. That's something you need to discuss with Irons.”

You nodded in understanding as the jeep came to a stop and Gideon got out, waiting for you do the same. Suddenly, he started looking left and right as if he were waiting for someone to show up at any moment. While you watched him scan the surroundings, your suspicions about him being British were confirmed. He certainly could not have tattooed that Union Jack flag on his neck just for the fun of it, now could he?

With a shake of his head, he grumbled a few complaints under his breath before resuming the way to the massive building before you. “Come on. We’d better not keep him waiting,” he suggested, walking ahead.

The change to an air conditioned milieu was very much appreciated. Your back was a bit sweaty after having been pressed against the seat of the jeep for too long and you attempted to give a quick look at yourself when you reached the glass gates of ATLAS head office, fixing your clothes as you passed. Once you two checked in the building, you were announced to Irons who was already waiting for you. The rest of the way was spent in a silence which was, if not comfortable, at least much needed. It helped you gather your thoughts and prepare for questions that would come.

You had the feeling you would not be leaving after the sun set.


	3. III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update— Metal Gear Rising is to blame for that, in part— but I'm about to fix that now. Thanks for the comments and the kudos, everyone. I'm glad to know that people are enjoying this story so far. I apologize for the mistakes, typos, omitted words. I tried my best but revision is a grueling task for me and my brain ends up burned out. Either way, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> See you around~

**Chapter III**

The soldiers you had come across on your way greeted Gideon with remarkable regard, which made it evident that he was someone important in ATLAS warrior forces. It was impossible to miss the respect and admiration he was shown by his colleagues and you had to guess it was a matter of seniority. If that was the case, you wondered why he was even running such a petty errand as that of fetching you when someone else could have done it in his stead. Still, it was not your place to question neither it was the right time to do so. The conclusion you drew was that Gideon was one of Irons’ most trusted people, and that a familiar face would make you feel more at ease.

As you approached the elevator, Gideon held your arm gently and you gave him a confused look when he led you to a more or less secluded spot, away from prying eyes. “Take it easy, Doc.”

“What are you talking about?” You frowned, gaze travelling from his face to his hand with bewilderment.

“You’re shaking like a leaf and you look pale.” As if realizing his indiscretion, he let go of you and you absent-mindedly touched the skin of your cheek, feeling for the first time a shudder course through your body. Still, you did not want to make a big deal out of it, pretending that it was nothing to worry about.

“It’s just the temperature change. It’s really cold in here, and now I wish I had brought a jacket along.” You tried to dismiss your distress with a shrug and a smile, but he did not believe your explanation— or chose not to.

He shook his head, unconvinced by your trivial arguments. “Listen, Irons will understand if you’re not up for it. He’d prefer you tell him rather than—”

“No, I’m fine!” You blurted out sooner than you had meant to, surprising Gideon at the unexpected irritation in your voice before you gave him a apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but I want to go. I need to do it. If I keep delaying this, I’ll never know what happened for sure.”

There was hesitation in his eyes for a moment but he finally conceded, nodding to the elevator as he began to make his way to it. However, you remained in your place and he stared at you with a perplexed gaze whilst you tried to come up with a reason for your setback.

So here you were, hidden in the restroom, washing your face countless of times, and lamenting the fact you felt so damn anxious to face Irons now. Gideon’s words echoed in your head, and more than once you had been tempted to beg to be excused and return to the safety of your room. However, the doubt on the fate of your research still hung heavy in your heart and you wanted to appease it once and for all. For months you had suffered the agony of being left in the dark and, now that you had the chance to finally know the truth, you felt so lost and daunted.

It was not so easy to open up, and you knew you were expected to talk about things you had tried to avoid for months. It was all too sudden, too soon, and while you had thought you would be strong enough to deal with it you were not so sure anymore. But it had to be done, nonetheless, for you could not disappoint, be a letdown to someone that meant so much to you.

“You alright there?” His muffled voice came from the other side of the door, and that was the first sign that showed you had been in here for too long.

Wiping your face for the umpteenth time, you fished in your purse for the essentials to fix your makeup and hair, hands trembling in your hurry. “Yea, I’m fine!” _Dammit_ , why everything had to fall out your handbag now of all times and make a lot of noise while at it? “Just give me a moment, please.” Crouching, you started to clean the mess feeling heavy and sluggish in your movements.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You cursed as the objects slipped through your clumsy fingers once more. It was then that the door opened and, seconds later, a pair of leather clad feet appeared in front of you. You knew who it was, but you still did not look up, pretending to be too focused on your task to evade the awkwardness of the moment.

Gideon hunkered beside you and his hand collected the scattered items swiftly. “What are you doing?” He mumbled under his breath, with an edge of exasperation, and you felt so small, so childish that your eyes began to burn with embarrassment. It was not so much as questioning the obvious, but him telling you implicitly that you were making a fool of yourself and it hurt. It hurt because you knew it was true. “I didn't mean it that way. Come on, don’t do this to me.” He dropped your bag on the countertop, grabbing your shoulders to get you on your feet. “Sorry, it’s a bad habit I got.”

“You've done nothing wrong. I just… I’m…” Perhaps it was not embarrassment what you felt. It was horror, distress at the idea of reliving the same pain once more and the impossibility to escape. “I just haven’t talked about this before. I know I have to open up at some point, but it’s difficult and it scares me.”

Was this a catharsis? You did not think you had told anyone how you felt about your experience in captivity, but Gideon was practically a stranger who had no ties to your family and looked less likely to judge. He would not care, at any rate, but perhaps he could understand since he found you in that place.

“You sure you want to see Irons?”

Biting your inner cheek, you nodded. “I want to, but I’m scared to break down in front of him. I don’t want him to see me like that. I would just like to sit through the whole conversation and be able to pretend it happened to someone else. It would be so much easier.” You tried to laugh but it came off with a sniffle that sounded pathetic and discomfiting. “But I’m being stupid, right?”

“No.” He shook his head, brows furrowing in thought before his face softened to an expression of sympathy— or perhaps pity. “I think you’re brave and don’t give yourself enough credit for it.

“I’m not. I did bad things out of fear.”

“They forced you. You weren't given a choice.”

“I could have chosen another path,” you mumbled, diverting your gaze to the floor and into the pair of feet close to you. Gideon’s fingers twitched briefly as if he were tense, and the sigh he heaved yet again was the giveaway.

“Wanting to live is a terrible sin?” His question took you aback, as you had never expected for him to read between the lines. Still, the raw understanding he showed gave you a comfort you never thought you would find, as odd as it sounded. “Never heard about that one before.” Before you could even reply, he retrieved a paper towel from the dispenser and softly brushed it against your cheeks, holding your chin in one hand. It was then that you realized you had actually shed tears you had tried to hold back. “The truth is you can spend your life thinking about the million things you could’ve done, and wonder where you’d be today, but what use is it? You live in the here and now, and we can’t change the past. I don’t know if that depresses me or makes me happy the most, to tell you the truth.” He did not meet your gaze, did not try to invade your thoughts despite the fact you followed his every move. “But don’t worry too much about what could’ve been. It drains your body and mind.”

That made sense. Perhaps you could give his advice some thought later tonight, but even before you could contemplate the idea someone cleared their throat. Looking past Gideon, you spotted a woman who appeared to be much older than you— and not very friendly, too— standing at the door. Maybe her disposition had something to do with Gideon being here, and you could see the pain in his in his face as he turned around to face her, like a kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Sir, may I ask what are you doing in the ladies restroom?” She had her hands on her hips, impatiently tapping her foot. “By any chance, are you lost? Perhaps you can’t read the signs on the doors?”

Gideon shrugged, trying to give off an air of nonchalance as he raised his arms in surrender, the paper tower still in his hand. “Easy now, ma’am. It’s not what you think. Not that I know what’s on your mind but I can already imagine.”

“I would have thought you had to take her to Mr. Irons.” The old lady scoffed at him, before looking at you above her glasses with doubt in her eyes. “Are you okay, Miss? Is he being inappropriate with you?”

Shaking your head, you gave her a reassuring smile while taking the paper towel from his hand to finish wiping your cheeks. “I’m fine, thanks for your concern. He wasn't improper at all, on the contrary. And it’s my fault we haven’t reached our destination yet. I wasn't feeling very good so I asked him for a sojourn.”

“Do you need to go to the infirmary? Anything?” She offered with a much less intimidating tone, clearly taken aback by your façade.

“It’s alright. I’m better now.” With a small smile, you played the part looking into her eyes so she would believe it.

“I’ll wait for you outside.” Gideon mumbled, walking past the woman who simply stared with interest as he left. When her gaze was focused on you once more, you only shrugged and offered another smile, watching her disappear in one of the cubicles. Feeling calmer, you proceeded to fix your unkempt appearance as fast as you could, thinking about Gideon’s words all the while.

It would not be easy, but at least it was a start.

Now refreshed and more presentable, you met him in the corridor. You almost expected some snide comment about how long it took you to get ready, but there was only silence from him. It was up to you to make the first move as you stood before him, staring at each other with a certain reticence that hung heavy in the air.

“Sorry about that. I didn't mean to get you in trouble there.”

“I've had it worse.” He chuckled, crossing his arms. “It’s funny, though. The boys here seem to fear her more than they fear Irons.”

“Well, she scared me when I first saw her.” This time, your laughter was sincere and it felt good to be able to feel glee over small things. Gideon only scratched the side of his neck, and you could feel he was trying to find the right timing to say it. You did not have to wait much longer for it, either.

“I haven't reported our delay yet.” He did not beat around the bushes and you were surprised at his straightforwardness, disconcerted by the serious albeit troubled manner of his voice. “If you still wanna back out, now’s the time to do it.”

Something in your conscience stirred restlessly, but you had already made up your mind. Even before he urged you to, you had known all along what needed to be done regardless of the challenges you would come across. The choice was made and a nod from you was all he required to show you the way, never questioning your reasons and leaving that judgment to you alone.

Once the men standing guard outside Irons’ office verified your identities, and your arrival was announced for a second time, you were given clearance to proceed. A lobby extended before you and Gideon was the first one to step inside, your feet lightly skidding against the impossibly glossy surface of the floor as you gained balance and momentum.

So this was it. There was no turning back now.

Your gaze occasionally diverted to the glass panels, to the sight that seemed to reach the horizon and become the only world known to you. But it was alright— this was where you were meant to be, after all, under vigilant eyes so you could not hurt anyone. It was the most forgiving punishment you could have ever conceived and you would live without any complaints, grateful for this chance to redeem yourself. This chance to make things right again.

His voice was the hint that made you realize the hallway had been left behind, and now you stood defenseless against the poise of eminence. The sophistication of your surroundings astounded you at a first glance, despite the apparent simplicity of its design. It did not look more like an office as it looked like a hotel suite, and it was a clue on how many hours its owner surely spent in it if amenities were needed to relax. It was no surprise, however; Irons was known for his relentless drive and his hard-working demeanor. Men like him could live on few hours’ sleep and you were sure, if sentry was not needed 24/7, that he would be the first one to be up and the last one to go to bed.

“Gideon,” you had heard him greet, before you could take your eyes off of a wall with ATLAS achievements throughout almost two decades— important feats that had earned the corporation an important esteem in the world. It took you by surprise, and you jumped to reality only to fall into account that a pair of brown eyes was regarding you with open interest. “So how’s my favorite Doctor doing?”

You shyly nodded with a small smile. “Mr. Irons, it’s good to see you. I apologize for the delay—”

It was embarrassing, to say the least, but he did not seem to be too preoccupied as he shook his head, waving his hand in dismissal. “Don’t mention it. You’re here and that’s appreciated.” His expression was friendly, cheeky, with amusement in his eyes, gestures that put you at ease somewhat. “So, I heard you gave your mother a hard time refusing to be a good girl and stay in bed.”

“Sleeping my life away has never appealed to me.”

“Ever since you were a child.” Irons was warm in his welcome, crossing the distance between you two as he regarded you with kind eyes. His hand was on your shoulder, then, lightly squeezing. “I know I've said this more times than you care to remember, but it’s good to have you back.” For a moment, it seemed as though nothing had changed after such a long time and it was almost relieving, if truth be told, to have this part of your life untouched. It gave you a sense of security, of acceptance that you desperately needed. “So tell me how’s my boy doing, Gideon?”

His brown eyes had strayed to the man behind you, who had remained gracefully immobile by the door as you were ushered to an area that more or less resembled a sitting room. It was close to an open balcony, the sun projecting a pleasant and fresh shadow in the afternoon, and you took a seat in one of the comfy armchairs. The question kindled your interest, making you wonder if Will was in the premises and wishing you could see him to do some catch up later. It had been so long ever since you had the chance to meet him, since you had finished your PhD, and you had not seen him in a few years. You had good memories of your childhood with him, and had always appreciated him as a friend. Sadly, your and his busy schedules, now that he attended university, did not allow for much time to be spent together but you still talked a lot.

Before you had the chance to ask, Gideon was already providing the answer for you. “We’re making progress with that arm. He’ll soon be ready to show you what he’s made of, Sir.”

They were not talking about Will. The name Jack Mitchell crossed your mind but you still could not see how the dots connected. Gideon had not even mentioned Irons would be so taken with this new recruit, neither did you see a reason for that. What could be so special about him in a corporation that had a considerable figure of contractors? Unless he and Will were friends, but that certainly would be the strangest coincidence in the world.

“It’s all thanks to you,” Irons’ compliment was almost lost to you, and you felt embarrassed for your unintentional absent-mindedness. You only hoped you had not missed too much during your distrait state. “You’re making the lives of many good men and women better. You should be proud of yourself.”

His words struck you where it hurt the most, but there was nothing left for you other than try to fake delight and be polite. “I appreciate your commendation but, truly, it’s not about me. It’s ATLAS the one that builds the future for us. My contribution is just a small part of it.”

“Just humor me. I'm like a father who's proud of his child.” Still, he seemed to be pleased with your response and you felt warmth at his affections. It was such an honor to be complimented by a man like Jonathan Irons, and despite your initial concerns you could feel yourself growing more at ease by the moment, letting go of the tension in your body as heartfelt laughter came from your lips.

“Please, I’m not sure Will would be really fond of the idea.” It was funny thinking about your friend’s expression if he found out what you just had been told by his father. He would probably have a heart attack if he knew his father suggested you were like a daughter to him. “He still hasn't forgiven me for telling him Santa does not exist, and says I’m the Grinch that stole Christmas from him. But, tell me, how’s he doing? I haven’t spoken to him nor seen him… for a long time.”

The older man’s smile faded, then.

You had to look at Gideon, wondering if you had said something to aggravate Irons but he could do little to guide you from his place. His lips were sealed and he was motionless on his spot, like a statue of marble, but his blue eyes reflected a troubled state of mind you could not begin to comprehend. Was it guilt? Hard to tell.

The uncertainty was even more distressing in the way Irons’ gaze hardened and his jaw tightened, as if he had been reminded of something unpleasant— almost as if he were trying to mask his emotions for some unknown reason. You were not sure about what was on his mind but you could feel a bad omen clinging to your skin, cold and gloomy, chilling you to the bone with unspoken words. It was almost unbelievable how such a welcoming atmosphere had become suddenly so intimidating, early fears returning with full force.

The silence had turned insufferable when your benefactor slowly turned to the soldier a few feet away from you. There was the slightest nod before he dismissed Gideon and, at that directive, the younger man stood at attention acknowledging his chief’s command.

“Sir.” He did not waste more time, did not linger on your pleading stare when you watched him leave in silence, the door sliding closed behind him.

Irons took a seat next to you and pretended nothing happened, instead inquiring more about your health. You were confused, honestly, and you did not know whether you just had imagined the whole thing or in fact there was something off, but the conversation had taken a pleasant turn and you dared not ask. It was a marvel getting to know about the new research projects ATLAS was funding and that the undertaking you had been involved with had seen progress while you were away. Such wonderful news made you all the more eager to go back to work as soon as possible, so you would not have much time to think about other things.

Seeing old friends sounded nice, too.

“Will must be really busy nowadays,” you said at one point, hoping it would be the convenient moment to ask about his son. “I've sent him several e-mails these past weeks but he hasn't replied yet. My mother told me he’s changed his phone number but she doesn't have the new one. I was wondering if I could have it because I’d really like to see him again.”

He just looked away, taking a deep breath. After seconds that felt like a lifetime, you finally got a response that left you both confused and fretted. “I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible, (__f/n__).”

Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and there was nothing you wanted more but to inquire what was going on but the words would not come out. You waited for him to explain, to tell you what was wrong with William yet he was silent, pensive, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts and chase his sudden distress away. Little by little it receded, his features softening, but the trepidation in your heart grew to the point it was too much to bear.

“I’m sorry but I don’t understand.” You blurted out, a million thoughts crossing your mind— thoughts that made your blood run cold.

Seated in a dark green armchair, he regarded you with an expression of deep-rooted desolation, as his hands gripped the velvety armrests, and you took notice how deep his exhaustion went. You realized he looked much older than you remembered, as though the years have suddenly taken their toll on him. His skin was much paler and revealed the fact he had spent too much time indoors, surely drowning himself with work from dawn until dark. His eyes lacked enthusiasm, joy, and his skin had wrinkled with the battles he faced in his lifetime.

“Listen to me, child,” he whispered, shifting so he could reach for your hand to hold it in his. “Many things have changed while you were away.”

“Where’s Will?” It was all you could bring yourself to ask, already fearing the answer you would hear. Deep down, you felt something bad had happened when you recalled the story Gideon told you about Mitchell losing his friend. You knew it was insane, though. What were the chances of them being the same person? Perhaps you were overthinking this too much, but dread had a tight grip on your heart at the possibility. Tears were already blurring your sight once more, even when you had sworn you would not cry, your voice lost the moment you entered a stage of agony.

“He’s gone.”

You were petrified, afraid to move, to breathe— afraid to exist. It felt as if a huge weight had been placed on your chest, and as if a knife was stabbing your heart. Your jaw was trembling, your whole body was shaking, and the knot in your throat made it impossible to even let a mouthful of air in. When you finally managed to respire, a hand darted for your mouth in an effort to muffle down a pitiful snivel that had fought its way out, despite your efforts not to be overcome by grief.

“Time after your capture, Will enlisted in the Marines against my wish.” So you were right. He was the Marine Gideon had spoken about. He surely knew Will was your friend, but had decided not to be the bearer of bad news. You could not blame him, if that was the case— telling you while you were on your way here would not have been the best moment. “I tried to stop him, make him desist from such a reckless idea because I knew he was taking unnecessary risks, but I couldn't.” There was a morose cadence in his speech, affected by repressed anger but he stayed in control of his emotions. “He never listened to my words, but he always listened to you and it was at that moment that I felt your absence the most.”

You had known William since you were kids. He had been your friend, a little brother to you. How could it be that he was gone?

“Will really missed you and was devastated when you vanished without a trace. You meant more to him than you think.” This time, a sad smile came to his lips as he squeezed your hand. “You were a sister to him and he loved you. He always told us about how hard-working and devoted to your beliefs you were, how much he admired you for it. I know in my heart he wanted to be like you.”

He really did not mean that for his son…

After a few moments, a glass of water was gently pushed in front of you and you took it, with trembling hands, drinking in sips and trying not to choke on the liquid. It managed to cool your mind down as you breathed deep and long, until the knot in your throat became less taut. The warm hand on your shoulder helped, too, as his voice assured you that everything would be okay.

Did he believe in his own words?

With a sigh, he retreated from you and settled in his armchair again, staring ahead into days gone— days that brought him regret. “I let him go and see the world, hoping that one day he would return and tell me that I was right. That was all I could think of, showing him that I was right and he was wrong. It’s ironic the way life give us what we want. I learned that I lost him in half a year, and for what? For a war in the name of democracies that crumble like a house of cards— a foolishness that took my son away.” Resentment laced his voice, his expression becoming one of tortured resignation at the truth he had learned during long sleepless nights. “My poor son, he was too young to understand… but he was more than they deserved. More than I deserved. I just wish I had the chance to tell him.”

You too wished you had said what needed to be said when you still had the chance. You regretted not having spent enough time with him, regretted never telling him how much he meant to you— making him second place in your life. It hurt so much knowing that you would never see him again, that you would never have the opportunity to mend your mistakes.

His calming voice called your name, and you looked up from the woeful reflection in the glass of water into the sympathy of his eyes. There was no judgment, no contempt in his gaze and it was comforting in a way. “I know this is difficult for you, but I need you to do this. We need to shed light on what happened and if there’s something we should know, we can’t do anything unless you tell us. Can you do that for me? For him?”

With a shaky breath, you nodded feeling a shudder in your body as you tried to calm down. You would not cry anymore. This time, you would be strong and face the consequences of your actions.


	4. iv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much to say other than sorry for taking so long :c

“Doctor (l/n)?”

Looking up from your cup of coffee and milk, your gaze fell on the man that stood before your table wearing an expression of uncertainty. He was tall, remarkably tall, but did not look intimidating at a first sight— unlike Gideon. If anything, he did not look like the type of man cut for warfare, despite his uniform told you otherwise. He had this gentle aura to him, which was accentuated by his baby blue eyes that regarded you with curiosity and maybe a bit of embarrassment.

“Yes?” You sat straight, trying not to spill your drink all over your blouse, taken aback by the sudden intrusion. You could not help it. The past few days had taken their toll on you and you had spent them mainly in your bedroom, mourning the loss of your friend Will. All your desires to see the world again had vanished the moment you knew of his decease and you had retreated to your own shell, hoping to escape from everyone and everything. 

It had not been until now that you had dared to abandon your haven and show your face in the mess hall, if only because you were hungry and needed some fresh air.

You had inquired when you would be working again, but had been told that you still needed time to recover and adjust. There still was the therapy with the psychiatrist and Irons himself had stated that you were not to be disturbed, for you were meant to take this time for yourself and your family. Still, you had mainly avoided your parents as you were mad at them for keeping the truth about Will’s death from you. Even though they said they believed it had been for the best if you remained ignorant for a little longer, that did not take from the fact you had received a painful blow with unexpected news.

“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you,” the young man apologized with a mortified voice, clearly noticing your panicked state. His tongue nervously licked his thin lips and he was soon trying to find the words to say, whilst you gave him a perplexed look. “My name’s Jack Mitchell.”

It hit you like a bucket of cold water hearing that name. He was looking at you as if he thought you had no idea who he was, but he was wrong.

After a moment of awkward silence, you finally managed to speak up. “Ah, you’re Gideon’s friend.” You gave him a small smile, playing along for the time being. Mitchell only nodded, looking expectantly at you, and for a second or two neither of you spoke a word, until you remembered that you had not even offered him to take a seat. Once your mistake was mended, he shyly reciprocated your friendly gesture with a murmured ‘thanks’.

Bending his tall form to fit in the unoccupied seat across yours, Mitchell straightened a hand against his dark gray cargo pants and placed his mug of black coffee on the metallic surface of the small table. He soon was relaxing against the comfortable leather chair, as you tried to divert your eyes from him and into the twilight sky. You had never been the socialite type and, even though he was a really attractive man himself, you could not fix your stare on him for long. Mitchell seemed to feel the same way, as he was staring at his own hands. Either way, there was this uneasy aura to him that you caught and shared with him.

“So where’s the grumpy captain?” You asked to break the silence.

You heard him shift, looking up to you with curiosity before he shook his head. “I think he had some reports to do.” He scratched his stubble with his right hand, and slightly leaned to you. “You surely wondering why I want to have a word with you.”

He thought you did not know, but you did.

“I know who you are.” Jack Mitchell was a name you had heard a lot lately, since Irons had taken a shine on him. Maybe it would be too daring of you to say, but it almost looked as if he were trying to replace his son with this guy.  

“You were… Will’s friend.”

You tensed at the sound of that name and were reminded of someone who now was gone. With a grimace, you looked at the cup in your hands. “Yes, I was his friend. I take it you were close to him, too.”

You played with the teaspoon, twirling it around your fingers and wishing you would not feel so awkward around people you just met. Or maybe it was the fact that he had shared the same bond with someone you cared.

“He told me a lot about you.” The teaspoon bolted from your fingers to the floor, and you sighed with tiredness, brushing a hand against your weary face. You did not want to go through this again— you thought you had gotten over it but it was clear that you did not. You were physically and mentally exhausted to deal with another breakdown. You were not even worried about the embarrassment of someone else seeing you broken, you just had enough. You were even regretting the decision to offer him to share a hot drink with you, believing you should have given a pretext and be on your way.

He shifted in his chair again but you did not look at him, did not dare to so long as you felt the coldness of loneliness chill your skin and the churn in your stomach making you lose your nerve. It was not until he was placing the small utensil by the side of the plate that you stared at him out of the corner of your eye.

_His arm…_

Gideon had been right and your hand quickly shot to the myoelectric prosthetic, fingers brushing against its surface before you took a hold of it. Mitchell did not seem to mind, at all, for he simply let you study him as your eyes widened in surprise when you noticed for the first time the whirring of minute engines under stratums of electrically conductive polymer, and reinforcement textiles. For what felt like a long time, you and Mitchell remained in silence until he spoke all of  a sudden, bring you out of your reverie.

“I’m sorry.” You looked up, meeting his sad eyes as he stood close to you. They shone with pent up emotions, and you could not help but feel like a jerk at your surliness. “I’m really sorry.”

 _I’m sorry I could not save him_ , he seemed to be telling you.

“You’re not to blame,” you finally said, letting go of him and he looked down, uncertain of what else could be said. “He’s gone and there’s nothing we can do about it. Sadly, we still haven’t discovered a way to bring people back to life.” You breathed the last part with a sense of defeat, your shoulders slumping. “I couldn't help him but, at least, I can help you.”

People bustled around you but you were caught in your little world, as Mitchell slipped in his seat once more. It was not long before they started to leave, when night drew near. The sounds in the background began to fade but the turmoil in his blue eyes did not diminish, the guilt that still afflicted him, so you took the first step towards acceptance.

Taking a sip of your drink, you furrowed your eyebrows when you found that it had grown cold. Mitchell had to chuckle at your funny expression, absent-mindedly tapping his fingers on the surface of his black mug.

“How long have you been in ATLAS?”

“A month, maybe. I would have gone to Myanmar with Gideon but,” he raised his left hand, “I was recovering from surgery and I still had to go through rehab.”

“How is it going for you? I hope the arm is everything you expected or, at least, useful.”

He looked into your eyes, his lips drawing a timid smile. “Still getting used to it but I’m doing better every day. The first days were pain, but I've been told I made a lot of progress.” Regarding his arm with an appreciative look, he flexed his fingers for emphasis. “I've recently started going to the fire range and it’s a relief I can have a normal life again. I thought everything was over but this gave me hope.”

“It’s not the end. We still have much to do and this is going to be a new start for you.” You gave him a reassuring smile, wondering if it could be the same for you. “You deserve a second chance.” 

“You know, Will talked so much about the great Doctor (l/n) that I had to wonder if he was actually in love with you.” Mitchell’s laughter made you retreat with a blush, as you crossed your arms and tried to deal with the impact of those words on your heart. It was no use lingering on those contemplations, however, for unsaid confessions could never hurt anyone. Still, his gaze was soft and you had to wonder if it was possible what he said was true. “You meant a lot to him and I can see why.”

Your cheeks were warm, and you were left at a loss for words. You did not know if it was because Mitchell was making a subtle compliment, or because you had been so important to Will. “And I thought I was the Grinch for him.”

His snicker did not go unnoticed and you had to roll your eyes, predicting what he was about to say. “Well, he called you that many times.”

“I knew it.” You chuckled, feeling more comfortable by the moment. It was the first time you could talk about this and not feel like you were choking in your own tears. It was almost liberating, as though you felt a heavy weight being lifted off your chest.

Mitchell was easy to talk to and, despite your heavy heart, you felt that somehow a part of Will had survived and was close to you. He shared stories with you, about their time in the Marines, what a hard-working and resolute spirit Will possessed. Mitchell admitted that, despite Will being younger than him, he had always been the big brother— encouraging him, leading him, telling him everything was going to be alright even when the end was so close.

 _See you on the other side_ , those had been his last words. You did not know if there truly was another side, but it was nice to think that one you would see him again.

All too soon it was getting late. Mitchell offered to walk you to your building, which was on the way to his. As you leisurely strolled on the side of the road, he found the opportunity to ask about how his arm worked, and you gladly explained. For the most part he showed great interest, clearly impressed at the work of art that had become part of him now. He had been explained the basics, yes, but he preferred a much more in depth insight that, apparently, no one had been too concerned to give him. He did not take it as an offense, of course, since he was aware there was a lot of work to do and he opted for not keeping pestering people with his questions. He had a new arm and that should be enough.

Before you knew it, it was time to say goodbye and Mitchell turned to you, a flicker of disappointment in his gaze when you reached your place. You had to admit you were saddened, too, and you felt tempted to ask him if he had any plans the next day, but thought it would be foolish and indiscreet when you just met, no matter how friendly he seemed to be.

“I gotta run now. Gideon is probably looking for me,” he started to walk away, before adding as an afterthought, “but if you need anything just let me know, okay?”

“Alright, don’t worry. It was nice talking to you, Mitchell…”

“Same here. See you around.” He nodded with a smile and then he was off, leaving you to your thoughts.

You had the feeling things would start changing for the better. You wanted to begin working as soon as possible. You needed to, something within you demanded it. The look in Mitchell’s eyes as he parted from you, it made you see that not everything was lost to you. You still had a chance to redeem yourself.

Everything would be alright.


End file.
